Helga's drunk side 2
by MollyMittens
Summary: The Aftermath of Helga's drunken night.
1. Different Bathroom

1 Different Bathroom. Same Shame.

I looked at the merrier hating the reflection that it gave off. To much red-eye and blocky skin. No matter how much I try, I can't seem to wash it clean. The only thing I can do is rinse out the horrid taste of puke. You would think that after Arnold's stern preaching I'd stop drinking. And believe me, I wanted to. But so many factors were stacked against me. Like the idea of that stupid dinner. If Arnold has any sense in him he would never suggested it. Instead he's waiting outside the bathroom door so we can have another talk. God, I hate those.


	2. Outside

2 Outside

The morning after the bar scene I could barely face the day. All the water had been drained from my system, and yet I still had to pee every five minutes. The sunrays coming in from the skylight screwed themselves into my eyes, making the bones around them burn with ache. But the worst was the sound of my sons crying. My eardrums roared in pain, nearly crumbling in defeat at his whale. I felt so ashamed at that, nearly crying myself when little Phil had to be removed from our room. And yet I could not do anything to end it. All I could do was hope that sleep could cure this. A long…long…sleep.

"That's it! Get up!" Arnold yelled as he tore off my blanketed sanctuary. "You are not going to lie in bed all day. I know life was hard for you yesterday, I know you may still be feeling the effects of that hardness, but tough. I'm not going to let you give up!" I moaned angrily at his voice, putting our big foam pillows to my ears. He took them off before they reached the lobes.

"I mean it Helga! UP!"

"But my head hurts…"

"Deal with it! We're going for a walk." He threw me my bathrobe and shower caddy. "Get cleaned and dressed. I'll be waiting outside." I hated how he spat his words at me like a drill sergeant. What right did that football head have to yell like that? Yes, I did screw up. But I didn't crap on the Pope! Crimany!

"I don't have to take shit from you bucko!"

"And I don't have to take this from you! But I do!" he stormed out, nearly falling on the steps as he went. I stood there, forcing the image of Arnolds irritated look from my eyes. I wanted to bury it; I wanted to take this retched feeling out from me so I never had to feel it again! But, I sighed; I knew that no matter what I did, it would still be there. Because I had created it.

The shower was cold, but I knew that it would be. One of the things I hated about the boarding house was that the hot water was usually gone by the second person, leaving the rest of us to bathe in the artic. Oddly enough, I had gotten used to that.

I got dressed in as many layers as I could find and went outside. Arnold was waiting on the stoop for me, shivering a little. I made sure to look at him, and not the piercing light around me. He smiled faintly.

"Ok, I have been thinking," he said as he got up. We walked down the stoop with coupled hands and turned right, passing the shops and markets. There were many people out despite the harsh cold. I could see some of them shuffling around in a sad attempt to generate heat.

"I think your sister is right. Now, before you get mad, hear me out. I know that it may seem harsh of her, but she said those things because she loves you. Olga didn't get the same treatment from your parents as you had so she does not know what it's like to feel hated. Just like I am sure you don't know what it's like to feel accepted." I lowered my head as he talked, not willing to glance his way. I had to admit it; some of what he said was making sense. But only some.

"I also think you were right. No matter how good those words were meant to be, they did hurt."

"Yea…" I sighed.

"So that is I why, I think, we all need to have a family dinner."

"A what!" I said, my eyes growing wide. "You mean, with her!"

"And your parents." I took my hand away from Arnold, shocked to find his true attentions. If this was some kind of joke, it was not funny.

"What makes you think a dinner is going to fix anything football head? They hate me and love her. No dinner is going to change that!" I put my hands on my head, the glaring daylight causing it throb in immense, pounding, pain. My eardrums rang out, nearly bursting from the sounds of the city, my stomach ready to blow at any moment. I crouched down in dire the hope that my lowered knees and cranium could calm my overreacting body. I felt like the slightest touch could erupt me. After a while though, the feeling started to fade…slowly. I got up gingerly; ready to yak at the first sign trouble.

"I really don't like that idea Arnold."

"I thought as much. But Helga, we have to do it. If we don't start to fix this now, nothing will ever change. You'll continue hating them, and they will continue loving Olga. No one will know what's really going on until someone speaks up. Come on, be the bigger woman here!"

"No!" I cried. I quickly turned direction and walked home, wishing I never left the comfort of our bed. It was so simple under there, and it was getting hard out here.

The wind blew at my hair, nipping at my earlobes. I could hear Arnold rushing to catch up to me, but I didn't care. I put my hands on my face to shield myself from the elements.

"You have to listen to me," Arnold pleaded, "Helga, I want little Phil to know your parents AND your sister. It's what's right and you know it!" I sighed, picking up the pace. I reached the stoop before long and went inside. I ripped off my coat and went upstairs. When Arnold reached me I was already under the safety of the covers.

"God Damn it Helga!" he yelled as he slammed the door. "Why is this so hard to take? Its just dinner!" I didn't say anything, the blankets completely over me. I didn't even move to let him know I heard him. I just lay there, protected by the thick softness. Arnold stood around a while longer before getting too annoyed to stand it.

"Fine! Be that way! I'm going to Gerald and Phoebe's! Make sure to feed your son! My grandparents raised enough kids in their lifetime." I lifted my head when he left, surprised that he would. And yet, looking at what just happened it was not so hard to understand.

I knew something had to change, but what could I do? I am a deadly mix of Merriam's drunkenness and the blowhard's stubbornness. Arnold should know that I have no other genetic choice. He's not inside my head; he's not there to see the hurt I get! But as I thought more and more about it, I saw that he was not inside our room. He was not inside his own house. My horrible actions had pushed the one person I loved outside his world. There was only one way to mend this.

After a quick cigarette behind the boarding house I had reasoned that if it was only one dinner, things could not be so terrible. All we had to do was serve a simple meal and not much else. If I know dad, he won't stick around long. As for Olga, well…if it will get Arnold back into our room I will deal with her.

I called Arnold and he seemed happy that I turned around. He said that as soon as he could, he'd set the whole thing up. All I had to do was worry about the meal.

"Ok, seems fair," I breathed into the phone. "When will you be back?"

"In a bit. Gerald has this new game he's been dying to show me. I should be home shortly after that. Did you feed little Phil?"

"Yes, about an hour ago and now he's napping. Should be ready for a diaper change soon."

"Good. I'm glad. You'll see Helga, this won't be so bad." Arnold said as he clicked off cheerfully. I fought the urge to puke and went to go check on my son.


	3. Fighting Urges

3 Fighting Urges.

Arnold was not mad anymore when he got home that night. In fact, since I agreed to do his little dinner idea he's been very forgiving about my latest episode, and I am not sure how good that is.

The whole week has been like any other. Every morning Arnold goes off to shrink the minds of the Hillwood youth while I, still on maturity leave from my paper column, tend to the Phils of the house. Big Phil hardly ever needs me since he has Gertia and has healed well from his operation, but I find it nice to check up on him anyway.

However, Little Phil always needs me: feeding, changing and the millions of other things that make up my motherhood. I do my best. And yet, there are those moments when I beg to be alone. When I beg to be outside in the cold with nothing but my jacket and back of smokes. When I beg for a chance to feel completely numb, just so I don't have to think. Sadly I never get those moments. The closest thing I do get is my son and I napping side by side. Which, to be honest, is not all that bad.

"Have you thought about the menu?" Arnold asked the night before the dinner.

"I don't know. Maybe pasta."

"Should I pick up anything on the way home from work? I could get some Italian sausage from Mr. Greene."

"Whatever," I said dryly as I finished putting a fresh diaper on Phil. He smiled at me, his gums showing some as I carried him to his crib. "This is your idea anyway. I'll make whatever you want me to make." Arnold comes to his son's side and helps tuck him in, smiling as he does.

"Look, I know this dinner is not what you had in mind but would it kill you to at least put some effort into it? This is your family, and it should matter." I groaned again, hating his words. They sounded just like Olga. I finished tucking in my side of our son and swiftly turned away from my husband. I was not about to get preached at again. Not now.

"I'll do this however you want Arnoldo, but I won't be happy about it. I'm sorry you feel the need to patch us all up like some whole-ridden cloth for the homeless. But this is who we are. So you better fucking get used do it." Arnold came to my side and took my shoulders, messaging them a little. He then moved his hands around my body, hugging me.

"I just want them to be apart of our sons life. That's all." I push away his hands as I broke away from the embrace. He had no idea what he was asking. Have my son to get to know those lowlifes I call mom and dad? Is he crazy? I shuddered at the thought of tomorrow; really wishing I had something to take edge off. I could almost feel the hot cancer stick between my fingers, burning away at my drags. I could almost see the flame of the lighter in my hand, dancing around the face of the cigarette. I could almost taste the sweet warm tar as it bellowed down my throat. It took all my control not to rush down the stairs and have one with a bottle of rum. But I know Arnold would hate it. So I stood there, praying for the urge to pass.

"Helga, are you ok?" Arnold asked. I didn't look at him. And I didn't want to, afraid that my eyes would give away what I was thinking. My voice might have already said too much. So I gathered the last bit of control I had and whispered,

"I'm tired. I need to get to bed." I undressed fast and dove under. Arnold soon followed.

"It's going to be fine," he said softy when he snuggled close. I wanted to believe that, oh how I wanted to really think it would be. But somehow, I knew nothing would go as Arnold planned.

I could feel the depression of the impending night weigh on me like metal when I thought about it. The indifference I was bound to get from my parents mounding up on top of me. The whole weight of their past rejections balled together into one heap, spreading its heaviness around my already weak body. The sadness seeped into my skin, tainting my tired muscles. As I closed my eyes, I wondered if I had the strength not to drink.


	4. Good Morning

4 Good Morning

I didn't sleep well. I kept tossing and turning the whole night. At first, Arnold didn't notice. He just slept like a log as he always does in the winter months. But when I couldn't stop yawning at breakfast he could tell something was up.

"Want to talk about it?" he asked, biting into a piece of toast.

"No. I don't feel like playing psychologist and patient this morning thank you. I just want to drink my coffee and pretend this dinner doesn't exist." Arnold rolled his eyes, not wanting open up that can of worms.

"Still want me to get the Italian sausage? We could do something else. Maybe even go out. That's what my grandparents are doing."

"No, the sausage is fine," I said in monotone, "It's easy to cook and I still keep and eye on Phil while I do. Plus, we have all those peppers we need to use anyway. I can throw them in…" I sipped more of my coffee before realizing I had none left. I went up to get more, unplugging the ancient percolator as I did.

"Alright then. Sounds like a plan. I should be home around six, maybe earlier if I can." Arnold turned to go, taking his time to leave.

"Yea, see you then…" I breathed, sipping my cup of Joe.

"Are you sure you'll be ok Helga?" he said. His eyes looked pleading, like he was asking some life or death question. I sighed and turned to face him with my back leaning on the table.

"I said I'd be ok. What more do you need?"

"It's just that…you've been good all week and I kinda wanted to keep it that way."

"I'm not one of your patients ok, Freud! I think I can be in my own house. Besides, what the hell would I do with your grandparents and Phil around? Give me some credit will you?"

"Fine! Sorry I asked." He rushed out door and slammed it, making a load clamber as it shut. I could hear little Phil starting to cry from upstairs. Sighing deeply, I put my cup on the table and went to tend to him.

"What's Shortman's all huffed about," Big Phil asked when I entered. I took my son from Phil's arms, feeling around his diaper to see if he needed changing. Sensing nothing, I realized he must be hungry, something he always seems to be. I fished around the extra diaper bag we keep in Arnold's grandparent's room for my boob cover and, once found; I begin to open up shop for little Phil. He feeds steadily fast like it's been a while, though I know it hasn't.

"He just wants this dinner thing to happen smoothly. He seems to forget this is the Pataki family, and not a Norman Rockwell painting." Phil laughed at that.

"Yea, your folks can be a little something," he said.

"You're telling me," I added as I took the seat next to Phil. I noticed that Gertia was not around but thought it better not to ask where. She usually has some wacky plan during the day and I was not about to get swooped up in it. I rocked a little as my son fed, enjoying this moment we had together.

"Aww, I never get tired of that image."

"What?" I said, looking at my Arnold's grandfather through my exhausted eyes. "You like the image of me being sucked on like fat some cow. Nice" I rested my body on the chair's back and resisted the urge to fall asleep. It took all I had not to close my eyes and drift off.

"It's just nice to watch is all." He smiled a little as he leaned closer to his great-grandson. I didn't move away. After a few moments little Phil finished eating and unhooked himself. I cleaned off his face with my boob cloth and closed up shop. I could sense by his slow blinking eyes that my son was getting ready for another one of his naps. I lifted him up gingerly and carried him out.

"Thanks for watching him," I whispered. Phil winked his left eye in thank you, giving me the ok sign with his hand. I tried my best to send a smile his way, but felt to tired. I just wanted to nap. I just wanted to lie down and forget what this day had to be. I was not ready for this, and I got the feeling as I walked my son to his crib that I would never be ready. The thought of it was still too much.


	5. ShakyShaky

5 Shaky-Shaky.

Little Phil and I woke close to two hours later. I got up and went to my crying son who was defiantly in need of a diaper change now. I turned my head at the smell; amazed that something so small could make something so stinky. It reminded me of horses though I could not remember when I ever saw one. I quickly took out a fresh butt and was glad that I didn't feel like puking at the sight.

"There you go," I said as I lifted my bottom-clean son. "Ready to rock and roll." I lowered him close to me for a hug, smiling. I realized that when it's just him and me life is not so bad. It's great even. The mere presents of him and his sparkling gum-filled smile wiped away all the hate I felt about myself. If I could just hold on to him all through dinner, I thought, maybe it won't be so bad.

But as I sat on my bed with little Phil I began to feel shaky. My hands started to tremble and soon it took all I had not to drop little Phil. I set him down in his crib quickly, wondering what had changed in the last five minutes.

"My hands!" I said, looking at how they jerked about. I put one in front of my face and watched it shake like mad. I stared at it, trying my best to still the wavering limb. My right leg began to twitch around, casing me to fall backward on the bed. I shot back up and shuddered my limbs hoping to push whatever this was out of me, but it didn't work. I continued to vibrate violently.

"Crap!" I cursed. I started to think about what Arnold might say if he saw me like this, what the dinner would be like if I couldn't stop. I breathed fast, my body tingling with dread as I realized what I had to do.

"That's it! I need a drink!" I panicked. "Just one to calm me down. That's all. Just one and no more!" Without thinking I dashed out and room in a frenzy on a mission to find the nearest booze. I got to the kitchen sooner then I thought and started to rummage around.

I went to cabinet after cabinet. I opened, reopened and threw things, tarring the place apart in my quest for solace. My heart quickened with each passing second and I started to wonder if could survive this moment. That's when I found it. The last bottle of rum Arnold had hidden in the back of the baking cabinet.

"AHA!" I shouted, "I knew we still had some!" I ripped off the cap and before I knew it I had five shots worth down my throat. I sighed deeply as the heavenly burning liquid swam down to my belly, loving the harsh taste of it all. My body quickly relaxed and soon I was sliding down the wall. I could feel every part of me calming as I finished off the large amount that what was left.

"Oh yea…" I moaned as I cleaned the bottle with my tongue. "Now we're talking." I set the Bacardi down next to me and rested for a while, happy to have the fearful feeling pass.

I took in the fuzzy scene around me, the kitchen starting to melt away into pools of separated colors. It looked more and more like an oil painting as the rum worked its way around my system. Raising my hand up to my eye I saw that it no longer shook. It was still as a statue. Beautiful.

"Well, time to…something." I pealed myself off the floor and went out back for a smoke. I sighed happily as the nicotine blew out of me, tasting it with my mouth as it exited in huge puffs. I knew that if Arnold saw me right now he'd be mad. But I didn't care. I needed this. If he wants to me so act all wifely for some stupid meal then he'd better be ready to pay. I told him all week how terrible the idea was and he never listened. He just went on and on about how precious and fragile our lives are, and about how I should care about my family. Sorry buddy boy, but I don't give a shit about them. He knew that one when he married me. I don't know why he'd think I'd ever change.

"Fucking Boy Scout," I said, lighting my second cigarette. I moaned in pleasure as I smoked it, happy to finally have the moment I was waiting for, prayed for, and was bound to pay for.

"Helga!" I turned to see who it was, shocked.

"What are you doing here Phoebe," I asked, eyes glaring.

"Your smoking!" she exclaimed.

"So, what are you gonna do about it? Call my hubby and nark in me?" Phoebe walked to me cautiously, like she was about tame a wild lion. Her gloved hands stuck out in front her.

"Come on, lets get out of the cold. Your not even wearing a coat." She started to grab my arm when I shoved her down.

"Get OFF me!" She picked herself back up and brushed off the lightly packed snow on her jacket, looking me over. I could see her eyes shift from worried to sad.

"Your drunk, aren't you."

"Yea well, what's it to you! It's my damn life!"

"I thought that bar scene was a one time thing Helga, apparently I was wrong about that."

"Oh, so Arnoldo told you." I slurred, "What am I? Some sad person to worry over? Criminay," I took huge drags of my cigarette, blowing smoke rings as I did. They expanded out as they floated up. I tiled my head and watched them fly skyward. Phoebe attempted a second time to grab hold of me, taking it nice and slow.

"You need to get inside. Your lips are turning blue." I tried to fight of her grip a second time but fell, my face landing in the snow. I cursed when I got up, hating how the congealed water numbed my face. Or was it the rum? It was becoming hard to tell.

"Fucking weather! I fucking hate it." I shivered some when I noticed that the bangs on my face were ice cold and just as damp. Before I could think of what to do next, I felt Phoebe's heavy coat being draped over my freezing shoulders. I didn't fight it off. I just let my best friend drag me inside, leading me near the fireplace. My teeth chattered.

"Ok, here you go," Phoebe said as she rested my body in a seat by the logs. I saw her take several off the top and stack them. She made sure to align the wood in some strange pattern and lit the kindling. Within moments the fire was roaring. I moved my chair closer to fully expose myself to warmth the hot logs gave off.

"Now, are you going to tell me what's going on here?" she asked, taking the other seat. I looked down at the floor and watched the reflection of the fire in it, thinking how I wanted another drink. I needed something to dull the pain. A headache was starting to build in my forehead. Another smoke would be nice too. But that would be the first thing Arnold would smell when he came home later. Damn.

"Arnold called me today and asked me to come over on my lunch break. He said that you two had some sort of fight this morning. Another patient came in before he could tell me more." I took off my friend's coat and handed it to her. I then stood up by the fire and warmed my damp pants. I continued to say nothing.

"Where is little Phil" Is he up stares in your room?" I nodded yes, still looking down at the hardwood slats. As the fire began to warm me I started to feel sad. This is not what I wanted to have happen. Sure, I did want to end my panic. But I didn't want hurt Phoebe. I didn't want to curse at her like I had. I also didn't want to feel like I had, depressed, cheerless, and begging to sip away every emotion my body could create.

My need to feel numb inside was growing stronger by the second and I knew if I didn't do something fast I was bound to run off. I put my hands over my arms and clamped them down, hugging myself. Biting my lip I thought about the many ways I could continue my current drunken state. Anything was better then this.

"I…um…I need…"

"What do you need Helga? Tell me what you want I can get it for you. Do you want some tea to help warm you up?"

"No I…no tea."

"Do you want me to check on your son?"

"NO! I...want…something stronger. Something to…" I quickly put up my hand again and noticed that the shaking had returned with full force. My right foot started to jerk and tap rapidly on the floor. My breath became quick, shuddering as it left my body. "Please," I heaved, "Don't tell Arnold." Phoebe lowered her head.

"I don't know if I can do that."

"Please Phoebe, Please…" I looked at my best friend, my eyes begging for her to understand me. She had to understand me. Someone had to understand me. "We were supposed to have this dinner and I didn't want to…and…please…don't tell him." I wiped away the tears from my face as I cried. The depression I felt started to weigh in on me again.

I wanted so much to end this. I wanted so much to quench this deep feeling of regret and worthlessness. I looked at my friend through my shrink-rapt eyes and wondered if I could get passed her and run out for more booze. If I could just get one more drink I'll be fine. Just one, and no more.

"You have to help me," I cried, "I just need one more…that's it Phebs, just one more and then I'll do whatever Arnold and you want. Please, you HAVE TO HELP ME!" She looked scared now, unwilling to come any closer to me. Standing, she backed away a little.

"You know I can't do that for you Helga." She said softly, "I think you need a different kind of help."

"No I don't need THAT help! I need a drink! There is a difference you idiot!" I barked. "All I ask is for one drink. I don't think it's going to end the world if I have just one!" I was getting mad now, sensing that maybe she was not my best friend after all. A best friend would help me!

"You think your so much better then me? Huh? You think you can feel all high and mighty because you don't feel like the shit of earth! One drink! God!" I went into my pocket and pulled out my smokes. I lit one up quick, not caring anymore if Arnold, or anyone, smelled the smoke. For all they know it could be from the fireplace.

"Helga I never said I was better then you."

"Yea, well, the smug look on your face says otherwise jackass!" She stared at me, a little shocked at how mean I was being to her.

"Ok, I can't I take this anymore. I'm calling Arnold!" She put her hand in her coat pocket and fished for her cell. I tried to grab it before she had the chance to call and failed, her hands too quick with the speed dial. Phoebe backed away some more as she waited for my husband to pick up. Her voice sounded scared.

"Arnold? It's me. I think you should come home. Yea…really bad." I looked at her hand and judged whether or not I could knock the cell phone out of it. Putting my hands out from my sides, I lunged forward, falling flat on my face. I got up and tried again, this time falling faster and at shorter a distance. I rolled on the ground some, holding my throbbing hands. Before I knew it, I was puking on the floor.


	6. Bathroom and Beyond

6 Bathroom and beyond.

And now we come to the present. I brushed my teeth vigorously in attempt to clean off the residue of puke my fireside episode had left. When that failed I turned to the mouthwash and gargled many gulps before I realized my mouth would never be clean enough. Not after what I did. I contemplated eating the soap but put it down before I took a bite.

"Helga, you can't hide in the bathroom forever. We have to talk about what happened." Ug. I pushed some cold water on my face for the fourth time and toweled it dry. I looked at my thick brows and wondered if I could thin them. I milled around the medicine cabinet for the tool I've seen Suzie Kikoshka use and started plucking a few hairs.

"OW! How does she do this everyday?" I asked myself. I put the tweezers back and looked at myself one last time. My eyes were still red, and my face was still blocky. My lips had regained their soft pink color, but that didn't really matter. My face had all the evidence Arnold wanted to know that I had not been good. Not like he needed it though. As soon he came home my former best friend told him everything. I wondered if I would do the same. It's hard to say.

"If you don't come out right now I'm coming in!" Arnold yelled.

"All right, all right. Don't be such a baby football head!" I opened the door and was met with his angry eyes. He tried to look at me sternly but soon his expression slacked into one of pure sadness. He relaxed his tie and let it hang off his collared shirt some.

"Well," I slurred, still drunk, "What do you want to talk about?" He sighed deeply, his eyes clamping shut.

"I can't believe you're asking that question. What else would I want to talk about!"

"I don't know. Peace in the Middle East? How the economy is still in the shitter? OO! Maybe you want to tell me something funny one of your patients did today? That's always good for a laugh." I don't know why I was making light of all this, but it seemed like the best thing to do.

"No Helga, I want to talk about how you shoved Phoebe to the ground, how you nearly burned her hand when she tried to call me, and why we are out of a full bottle of Bacardi rum!" My smiled faded.

"Oh…that."

"Yes, That!" He grabbed my hand and dragged me down the stairs to the fireplace. I tried to fight him off but my stance was wobbly at best so I had no other choice but to be led like a puppy. I saw Phoebe crying into the shoulders of Gerald when Arnold and I got back to the scene. Gerald gave me the death stare as he held on to his trembling wife.

"Come on, out with it!" Arnold ordered. I stood in the middle of the room and composed what I might say. But none of it seemed good enough. "Well!"

"My hands were shaking," I started, "and I just wanted them to stop. I wanted them to stop…" I could hear myself talking but it might as well have been someone else. My mind was disconnected, elsewhere in the world. It's like I was two people at once: the person trying desperately to save herself, and the woman who wanted it all to go away. It was hard to choose whom to be.

"That's it! That's your answer to all this! Shaking hands?" Arnold shouted as he looked at me. I looked back at him, not sure what else I could say. My head grew heavy with ache as I stumbled to the nearest chair. I slumped into it feeling weighed down by everything and everyone around me. I could hear Phoebe still crying on Gerald in the other side of the room. She hugged him close as she buried her head into his chest, giving off soft but audible weeps. They were just as present as the glow from the fire, and the mild heat that spread around the room. It was everywhere.

"You crossed a line Helga," Gerald said to me, his eyes stilled fixed in their mean stare. I gazed back, hoping my eyes could denote some sort of apology, though I knew I didn't mean it. I asked her to do one thing for me and she refused.

"Fuck, my head. When will the pain ever END!"

"When you choose it to," my husband said sternly. "You can make this all go away if you really wanted to, if you cared to!"

"Oh, don't you dare make this all about me ok? Don't you dare think for second that if you just listened to me and not pushed ahead this silly little dinner of yours I'd be sober right now? This all your fault Football head! If you had just let me be I could have done what I wanted at the proper time!"

"Oh really? This is my fault? The simple fact that you emptied a whole bottle of liquor was caused by what I did?" He sighed, closing his eyes again. "I'm so sorry you feel that way Helga. But you have to be big enough to realize that I didn't put your hand on that bottle. I didn't tell you go outside and smoke without a coat on in the dead of winter, and I sure as hell didn't tell you jump at your best friend! The only thing I did was try to make you face what you came from and realize that you could be better then that! But I guess I was wrong. Phoebe's crying sure proves that." He went to the mantel and put his hand on it, looking deep within the flames. He didn't say much, but I could tell through my fogged eyes that he was thinking about something. I wondered if he had enough of me. I hoped not.

Time became choppy as watched my husband. I drifted between a state of on and off. I wanted to get up, but lacked the strength. My body had gone limp from drunkenness.

"I don't understand it," Arnold sobbed lightly, "Why would you do this?" He watched the fire dance a little while longer before turning to me, his eyes drowning. I tried to make out the worried lines of his face but found it tough.

The more I sat, the harder it became to see the solid details of my world. I paned my head around me to find something I could look at clearly. The room once again boiled down into separate colors.

"I want to help you Helga. But I don't think I can."

"What are you saying?" I forced out, afraid of his answer. Arnold went to me and got down on one knee. He inched closer as he grabbed my hand, falling silent again. "Make it fast," I choked, "My head…" He let out a huge pocket of air and looked at the floor.

"I think you need to go away for a while."

"What?" I shot up. I looked my husband's eyes in panic.

"This is not good for you Helga. This is not good for us. Think of your son! Do you really want him to keep seeing you like this? Is this the message you want him to grow up with? That you can drink away your problems?" He cried harder as he spoke, his voice getting horse with emotion. I turned my now throbbing head away from Arnold. I clamped my sore eyes shut, the lights hitting me like steak knives. I didn't know what to say. By now Phoebe had stopped crying, settling into watching my husband and me with Gerald.

"Is that how you feel about me now," I said softly, "Am I so horrible that you have to cast me off like some piece of trash?"

"If you keep acting like this then I may have no other choice. I love you Helga. I really do. But my love can only do so much." He sighed deeply as he stroked my cheek. I could hear him desperately trying not cry any harder, gulping down his tears. He then stood up, slightly shaking. "I can't do this. I can't look at you when you're like that. I'm going to check on little Phil. Please…don't do anything else." I saw him walk away unhurriedly, taking the time to look me over. And that's when I finally passed out.


	7. Detox

7 Detox

I awoke to a white room. There was a large window a few feet to the left of me. Arnold rested in a chair just to the right of my bed. I sat up some, feeling cold and achy. My stomach felt like it would burst if I didn't empty it. I tried to get up but found my hand was tethered to some IV of clear liquid.

"Oh thank god you're up!" Arnold said as he turned to greet me. "I didn't know if you would wake. The doctors said you had much more alcohol then your body could digest. You're lucky you didn't die!"

"Ok, you're going to have to talk softer then that…" I eked out.

"Sorry" he whispered. He took hold of my hand, sighing. "You really scared me there Helga. I think that was the worst I'd ever seen you."

"Can we not talk about that please?"

"No. We have to. You really hurt people Helga. Phoebe cried half the night because of what you did." I put my arms under my chest, turning my head away from my husband. I closed my eyes at the bright window.

"So, is this the loony bin?" I asked, rubbing the tension out of my head.

"Detox unit. They say you'll have to stay here for a few days before moving to the rehab wing for a month." I turned my head back fast, shooting a mean look his way.

"Rehab? Are you serous? I only drank a bottle!"

"Of rum. And you nearly died too, if you cared to think about that." His face went from worried to mad. "I am so sick and tired of you trying to pawn this problem off to someone else. You got yourself here and now you have to get yourself out. No one else but you can do that." I looked away again, groaning. If he had any sense he'd stop preaching at me like a little kid. I'm not five dammit!

"Look Helga. You can give me that spoiled pout all you want. But it won't work. You have to be in here for the goodness of our son and our marriage. If you don't deal with your demons now, then you never will. And you'll be just like the one person you hate. Your mother!"

"Don't compare me to that drunk!" I yelled. "I am in a FAR better place then her!"

"Oh really? Look around you! Is this any better then where she is!" I scoffed, pressing my eyes shut so I wouldn't have to see his point. My head began pound hard, making the bones surrounding my eyeballs flash with pain. After a few moments of forced darkness I opened them, slowly panning the room. It looked so plain and white all over. The only trace of color I could find was the green chair Arnold sat on, and the gray IV machine that stood next to me. I could smell the distinct stench puke and mess, though I could not remember if that was me or some other drunk who passed through this room.

"So…this really is the detox unit huh?" I sighed sadly.

"Yes, and you really ARE going to have to spend a solid month in rehab. This is not a bad dream Helga. This is your reality." I started to feel sad when he said that, his words stabbing at my heart. I put my hands on my eyes as I cried violently.

"I don't want to be here," I sobbed. "I don't want to be away from you and my son." Arnold got up from his seat and hugged me, rubbing my arms with his hands. He didn't talk. He just let the moment pass around us like a sluggish cloud. I guess he said all he could say.

"I should go. My grandparents are watching little Phil and I don't want to keep them." He unwrapped his arms and stood to look at me. I could tell by his crooked brow that he was fighting off the urge to sob. "Please Helga, don't mess this up." He then bent down and kissed me passionately, his hands plastered to the sides of my face as his eyes stapled shut. I could feel all his warmth and love pressed upon me in that kiss, and I never wanted that to end.

"I love you," he said when we parted. "I'll be back in a few days to see how you're doing."

"Will you bring little Phil?" I wept.

"We'll see. I still don't know yet if he should see you like this. Good bye Helga. For now…" he stood up fast and left, not even looking back at me. And why would he? I had became the one person I always swore to him I'd never be. I had become my mother.


End file.
